Trick or Treat… Where’s the fucking trick, kid?

What happened to the days when a kid would have to earn their keep?


A group of kids just came to my door, and said “Trick or Treat.”

Well let me ask you, “Where’s the fucking trick?”

They stood around dumbfounded, holding their bags and pumpkins out as if I was going to give them something. But what did they do to earn it? I don’t care if it’s Halloween. What am I getting out of this deal?

“Don’t say ‘Trick or Treat’ to me without providing some sort of routine,” I said. “That’s just false advertising.”

They didn’t sing, they didn’t dance, there was no prepared monologue. The majority of them didn’t even say “Trick or Treat,” just stood their asking for a handout like a hobo outside a liquor store. A few of the kids were even dressed like hobos. Way to set your goals high.

Well I wouldn’t enable them. I made them watch as I devoured the delectable fun size candy bars, then sent them on their way.

“Next time, have something prepared,” I said. “Tell your parents I said that. Except you Timmy. Your mom’s hot and has a questionable reputation. Take whatever candy you want and tell her where you got it and she should feel free to come over and thank me anytime.”

Walking up to a house, ringing the doorbell, and saying “Trick or Treat,” further plays into the false praise that is given to kids every days.

Everybody gets a trophy,  nobody keeps score, everybody wins – “Trick or Treat” is simply a holiday version of a prize you didn’t earn. Why do you think so many people in this world want to be rewarded for doing nothing, and therefore sit on their ass and abuse the system?

It begins with the children. When I was a kid my grandfather told me before I’d go trick or treating that I’d be required to do something to earn my candy. Tell a joke, sing a song, do a dance – something to earn it.

So instead of being just another beggar with nothing to offer, I’d be the mime getting quarters thrown at him for either displaying his talent, or simply to go away.

One year I went house to house breaking into a stunning rendition of Guns N’ Roses “Welcome to the Jungle,” another I quoted “I’m Larry, this is my brother Daryl, and this is my other brother Daryl,” from “Newhart.” Finally I tired of riding off the coattails of famous performers and prepared my own material. Some of the parents got a little offended by my more risqué comic routines, but that prepared me for the crowds I would later face as a nightclub comic often facing rowdy drunken hecklers in small town dive bars.

If your children are going to come to my house, tell them they better have some sort of routine prepared that sets them apart from the rest. Teach them something that will serve as their “trick,” and only then will they be given their “treat.”

And if your offspring are unprepared or lacking in talent, they’ll go home without candy. Winning and losing is a lesson that needs to be learned in life. Let them learn it now, otherwise they’ll turn into a whiny, cry baby, useless adult that nobody could stand.


My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in EBook & paperback on Amazon.

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